Well, he could AT LEAST moo - Nov 2010

Scene: Chick-Fil-A, Kids' Night

The giant cow comes walking around, mobbed by young kids. As the cow has his tail pulled, his hands shaken and high-fived, and is generally tortured by small children, I'm reminded again how very thankful I am to not have that job.

Lea:  Why doesn't the cow talk?

Me:    I'm not sure. [Unclear how much to share - I mean, I THINK she knows there's a person in there, right?]
Lea:  But there's a person in there. [Well, that solves THAT issue.]
Me:   Maybe they don't want the person in there to talk.

Lea:  Why not?

Me:  Because maybe they want other kids to think that it's a real cow. [Why CAN'T the cow talk? How the heck do I know? Why do they make the people at Chick-fil-A say "my pleasure" instead of "thank you?" Maybe it's company policy??]  

Lea:  [Pause.] Well...he could AT LEAST moo.

I wud not like ene uthr mom and dad - Nov 2010

It's been a long time since I've posted, apparently. How time flies.
My baby is now 5 1/2 (actually, 5 and 2/3, but who's counting)?

Every day that I look at her, I wonder and marvel at the person she is and the person she is still becoming. In a word, she's a cool little dude.
Yesterday her kindergarden class made Thanksgiving cards for their families. This was Lea's (spelling and all):

To Mom and Dad
I love you. You are the best. You play with me. We can play bas boll. Thak you for taking car ov me. Form Lea.
I wud not like ene uthr mom and dad.

(To Mom and Dad: I love you. You are the best. You play with me. We can play baseball. Thank you for taking care of me. From Lea. I would not like any other mom and dad.)I love that kid.

Philly - Pt. 4 - Sept 2009

Day 3: Finally.

Day 3. Redemption for Philly. Ever since I came into town, I’ve been waiting to get my hands on Reading Terminal. I passed by it in the cab on my way to the hotel, and thought, “Hey, I think I’d like to go there.” Unfortunately, it closes at 6:00 each day, and conference obligations have made it impossible to get over there. But today, we were on our own for lunch, and I marched on over.

Glory. Finally something that I can really, really like.

Reading Terminal is a bustling hub of activity. Food vendors of all sorts – bakeries, delis, cheese steaks, tons of butchers and seafood vendors with amazing looking goods, and fabulous looking produce at amazing prices. And tons and tons of people and energy. It was crowded, it was hard to move around, and it was great. I wandered for a while, taking it all in. I wished that I lived here so that I could pick up some spinach (so deeply green it was almost glowing), fresh apples, corn, tomatoes, fresh bread, and go back home to cook up something amazing. It also made me wish I ate meat. The deli sandwiches, piled high with thin slices of corned beef, turkey, ham, roast beef. The cheese steaks slapped down on the grill and chopped with metal spatulas before being piled into a hoagie roll. And it also made me wish, deeply, that I wasn’t recently diagnosed as being lactose intolerant. The cheeses made my mouth water. Sharp cheddars, creamy provolones, soft bries, and romanos and parmesans in shavings so thin that they melt in your mouth. If I could have grabbed a hunk of cheese and a piece of bread, I would have been a happy, happy woman.

The other great part was the incredible variety of people. Young, old, Black, White, Asian, Muslim, Amish, tourists, business types, looky-loos, serious shoppers – everyone was there, mingling together. They also had live music – two guitar players singing Cuban songs (one was, incongruously, a very white, non-Hispanic, older man while the other was appropriately authentic) and a piano player tucked into a little nook in a remote corner of the building.

I wish I could say that my meal lived up to the rest of my experience, but the fact of the matter is that I was overwhelmed by choices and trying to figure out what I could eat that would be vegetarian and non-dairy, or seafood that wasn’t fried. I settled on a Mediterranean deli where I ordered a falafel salad and discovered that these people wouldn’t know a falafel if it bit them on the ass. I can’t really describe what it was, but it seemed like they had taken hummus, thickened it up with flour, formed it into a ball, and baked it somehow until it became very dense…almost like a hummus dumpling, but not as soft. Very strange, and not particularly tasty. Also, they put yogurt dressing on it, unbeknownst to me until I saw it. At that point, I just decided to eat it, and can safely say that it was the final piece of evidence I needed that I am indeed lactose intolerant. However, I did attempt to redeem my experience by grabbing a gorgeous looking cinnamon raisin walnut cookie on the way out – haven’t tasted it yet, but it smells heavenly.

From there, I walked only a little bit, since Philly is still in the midst of a heat wave. However, I did manage to see the Court House, which was majestic. It stands proud, more than holding its own in the midst of the modern buildings that surround it. Beautiful carvings and architecture – just an impressive presence.

On my way back to the hotel, I passed by an unremarkable Macy’s, and then noticed the sign that it used to be the John Wanamaker’s. I remember Wanamaker’s from growing up – it was THE department store, even though we didn’t have one in our area. As I recall, my Uncle John worked there for a while as well – security maybe? For some reason, selling suits also pops into my head, but I could be making that up completely. At any rate, I consider Wanamaker’s a true Philly landmark.

Now I’m sitting in a quiet corner of the hotel, writing. A few more sessions and I’ll be on my way back to NC. I’m tired, but it’s been a good trip. I feel like I’ve learned a lot and I’ve been stimulated to think in new ways, make new connections, and challenge my existing perspective. Not bad. Plus, on this final day, Philly was able to redeem itself. 

Philly - Pt. 3 - Sep 2009

Day 2: It’s Not Always Sunny in Philadelphia – at least, I don’t think it is.

I didn’t actually step foot out of the hotel today. Up early for breakfast and the plenary session, lunch provided for us in the Exhibit Hall, more sessions, and then an invitation to join the conference sponsors for dinner in their suite.

The conference I’m at is being sponsored by the Institute for Family-Centered Care (IFCC). They’re a great group of folks who advocate for care that is safe, effective, responsive, and patient- and family-centered. Seems basic, but in our US medical system, it often doesn’t happen. Most of the individuals who work there have, at one point, experienced an adverse or sentinel medical event in their family – and for the majority of these individuals, it was with their children. I have talked to countless people in the past two days who watched their children die, and I can’t imagine what that would be like. For some, it was the result of a chronic or congenital condition. For others, it was the result of a medical error. The unifying theme is that they were able to turn loss into power. They used their grief as a motivating factor and have now dedicated their lives to helping patients, families, health care providers, hospital systems, medical groups, and health care leadership understand the role that patients and families deserve to play in their own care.

We (AIR, the company I work for) are partnering with IFCC on a new project that will attempt to provide guidance to health care institutions (hospitals, at this point) in linking patient safety and quality of care with patient- and family-centered care. Because our health care system in this country is so varied, fragmented, and complex, most of the efforts to improve outcomes in these domains are enacted and evaluated on an institution-by-institution basis. Not always a bad thing, but how do we gather lessons learned and formulate best practices in that environment? Hopefully, that’s what we’ll be learning and addressing. Another part of the project is helping patients and family members understand the roles they can and should play – and giving them the confidence and knowledge they need to perform those roles. It’s all well and good to say to parents whose child is in the NICU that they need to be informed, engaged, partners in their child’s care, but what does that mean to parents who aren’t even sure if they’re allowed to hold their baby?

At any rate, the folks from IFCC were gracious enough to invite me to their suite last night for a brought-in dinner. I went because part of my charge here is networking. And it’s not that I wasn’t looking forward to it – it’s just that, at the end of a long day, it’s difficult to put my game face on for these types of things. But, as with most things like this, once I got there, I really started to enjoy myself. I love talking to people, finding out where they’re coming from, what things have motivated them, and what circumstances have brought them to where they are. I also discovered that I have a lot more to say on this topic than I thought. My maternal and child health training and public health perspective prepare me well to enter in to these concentrations – and I’m starting to be able to make the linkages between the work I’ve done at AIR in the past, the academic training I’ve had, and the work I’m doing now. This kind of “making sense of my life” is immensely satisfying, as is the ability to contribute, rather than just listen to these types of conversations.

My day ended around 9:45, when the party started to break up. We had spent the past ½ hour looking out the expansive suite windows at an incredible electrical storm. Enormous flashes lit up the skyline, causing breaks in our conversation as people stopped to “oooh” and “aaahhhh.”

I tumbled into bed around 10:30 where my exhausted brain wouldn’t turn off. I think sleep came around 12:45, and I slept fitfully, which made my 6:45 wake-up a bit unpleasant. I used to be able to get by on very little sleep, but now need a good 7 or 8 hours to feel appropriately refreshed. Needless to say, I’m a little bleary eyed today (Wednesday) as I write this. But it was worth it.

Philly - Pt. 2 - Sep 2009

Day 1 in Philly: Where the f- is the Liberty Bell and why is Independence Hall so small?

·         I call Lea and Tad as I head out down Market Street. I really have forgotten how to be a city girl, because I’ve forgotten how difficult it is to have a conversation with buses, trolley cars, jackhammers, and people shouting as background noise. My conversation consists of a lot of, “What??” and “Mommy can’t hear you!”

·         I stop in the world’s most depressing Kmart to buy a pair of knee highs to hopefully make my torture device shoes more bearable tomorrow. I have to search for about 10 minutes before I find the only pair that’s not Queen sized – do only plus-size people wear knee highs in Philadelphia?

·         I continue down Market Street, which, I’m sad to say, is something of a dump. I mean, it’s not horrible, but it’s not great either. And where are all the restaurants? I’m hungry, and all I want is a nice little café. Or sandwich shop. Or even any place that will sell me food.

·         I walk and walk and walk, hoping to find something redeeming. At the same time, I’m becoming ever more aware of the change in my attitude since I was younger. When I went out to San Francisco after I graduated from Oberlin (to attend a conference), I walked all over the place by myself, regardless of whether it was day or night. I stayed in a hostel, talked to people at all hours of the night, and attended a dance party in the Union Square on the first night I was there. I walked to Chinatown and had several wonderful meals there by myself. I roamed and wandered without a care in the world (and got my wallet stolen in Haight-Ashbury, but that was due to my own negligence and, quite possibly, too much sangria). Now, here in Philly 13 years later, I want to finish my walk before it gets dark. I look cautiously at people from behind my sunglasses and don’t want to veer too far off the beaten path. Is it because I’m now older and wiser? Or just old?

·          Despite my wariness, I keep walking because there HAS to be something that’s going to make this walk worthwhile, right? Also, I can’t bear the thought of traveling all the way to Philly and not really experiencing it. If I never leave the hotel, I might as well have traveled to Chicago. Or Boston. Or, god forbid, Detroit.

·         I continue to walk, searching for something to grab my interest. Like maybe the Liberty Bell? Independence Hall? A Ben Franklin impersonator? Or even, do I dare hope, a restaurant??

·         I see some green space and big buildings. Looks promising – except that it’s just a Visitor’s Center, and I don’t want to read about the things I should be seeing, I just want to see them. Plus, it’s closed.

·         As I’m walking away from the Visitor’s Center, a clearly deluded (and potentially vision-impaired) man passes by, turns back, and says, “Hey there, beautiful.” I spend the next few minutes pondering how I feel about this. Do I feel objectified and degraded? (My Oberlin self wants to say “yes.”) Or do I just feel grateful that at 34, someone still notices? I decide I don’t want to think too hard about the answer to that question.

·         Look – up ahead! It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s an honest-to-goodness historical landmark!!!

·         Except when did Independence Hall get so small? I remember coming to Philadelphia when I was younger, and somehow it was nothing like the Philadelphia I’m experiencing now. I remember waterfronts, historic buildings, quaint buildings, a large, impressive Independence Hall. And the Liberty Bell. Now, Independence Hall looks dwarfed by the buildings around it. And it’s roped off – I can’t get in, because the only visible break in the ropes is clearly marked “EXIT” and is guarded by two security guards who look disinclined to break the rules for me. I suppose I could ask how to get in, but it’s getting late, and Independence Hall is so far not making me feel like it’s worth the effort. I do, however, walk around the other side (still no entrance) and look at the statue of Commodore Barry, the “father of the Navy.” He’s pointing at something. Commandingly. Could it be a restaurant?

·         It appears to be an office building.

·         Off to find the Liberty Bell. Or something historic. Or something edible.

·         I keep seeing signs for the Liberty Bell. But where is it?

·         Seriously, where the f*&^ is the Liberty Bell?

·         I give up. Who wants to see a cracked bell anyway? (Note: In speaking with Tad later in the evening, he informs me that the Liberty Bell is in a separate building near Independence Hall. Apparently it’s liberty and justice for all as long as you can figure out how to get inside.)

·         I wander back towards the hotel and happen upon Washington Square. Kind of nice – really the first thing that’s been pleasantly surprising. Lots of people, a guy doing yoga, babies playing, tourists, locals, yada, yada, yada. If I had more time, it would be a nice place to stop and sit for a while – but I’m really freaking hungry.

·         I see Jeweler’s Row, which apparently is an example of early row houses. Neat, but I guess I’d be more interested if I was into jewelry. Plus, all the stores are closed, which means that the area loses some of its flavor.

·         I wander back along Chestnut Street, which, all in all, is MUCH more appealing than Market Street. More quaint, calmer. Also, it appears to have restaurants.

·         Except that all the cafes are closed – the only places that are open look like fancier, sit down types (like Morimoto’s, the Iron Chef’s restaurant). I just don’t feel like eating by myself in a fancy sit-down restaurant tonight. Plus I think they frown on flip-flops.

·         I can’t take it. After walking up to my third closed deli, I stop at a Quiznos, where the guy preparing my vegetarian sub (no cheese, due to recently discovered lactose intolerance) looks at me like I have three heads. How do you have a sub without meat or cheese? I’m wondering the same thing myself as he prepares a sad piece of bread with lettuce, tomato, and a few wilted olives.

·         On the way back, I pass by St. John’s Cathedral. I wish I could go in, because I actually really like churches. I’m not religious, but I love the symbolism, the iconography, the tradition. However, St. John’s is closed. It’s also dwarfed by office buildings all around, and right across the street is a large parking garage. It’s kind of smushed in among all these heinous buildings, and somehow its beauty is a bit shadowed by it.

·         Back to the hotel, where I sit on my bed and eat my now cold Quiznos sub (not that it really matters) while watching M*A*S*H.

·         I also check my in-room Visitor’s Guides, where it looks like there’s lots of cool stuff to do and places to see. I think Philly has a lot to offer – I just don’t think that I was able to find it by wandering. If I had more time and/or a plan, it might be different. Ah well, there’s always tomorrow.

Philly - Pt. 1 - Sep 2009

Day 1 in Philly: This Little Piggy Went Home to Get Comfortable Shoes

My stay in Philly thus far:

• My trip starts by waking Lea early so that I can spend a little time with her. She wakes up in a great mood and I love being able to spend those moments with her. Plus, I get to leave knowing that Tad will be the one to deal with tonight’s after-effects of the early morning wake-up. Lea gives me lots of hugs and kisses when I leave, but is not upset. This makes me incredibly happy, because it lessens the guilt. It also makes me feel like (a) she’s secure in the knowledge that I’ll always be there for her, even if I’m not physically present, and (b) she’s secure in Tad’s ability to be a great dad to her, regardless of whether I’m there or not.
• I get to the airport and navigate security without incident, despite not having flown since January of 2007 and wondering if I’m going to be the idiot who forgets to do something critical while going through security, thus holding up the whole line or causing a major security breach.
• Within two minutes of going through security, I realize that my feet are not accustomed to anything other than flip flops and sneakers. Exhibits A and B to support this are my aching, swollen feet that have big bloody blisters on the back. EasySpirit comfortable shoes, my ass. Thus begins my quest for BandAids. Three stores later, and it becomes clear that there’s not a BandAid to be had in RDU today. I suck it up and hobble on to the flight.
• The airplane is a small commuter jet, with only two seats on each side. I have carefully selected a window seat for myself so that I can snooze a bit. I just can’t sleep in an aisle seat – I feel too exposed. Unfortunately, there’s a very nice looking man sitting in my window seat with his eyes closed, leaving me with the aisle. I’m now left with the predicament of whether to: (a) attempt to wake up the man, make him unbuckle his seat belt, move his bag from under the seat, and hold everyone up while I do this, or (b) suck it up and take the aisle, relinquishing my cozy nap spot. Looks like my flight will be nap-less.
• I arrive in Philly, where circumstances force me to immediately turn my attention to my feet, which, in addition to being blistered are now swollen into little sausages due to the trauma and the flight. I adopt a strange sort of walk where I curl my toes under and try to talk on the balls of my feet without walking on tiptoes. I’m confident that I will develop hammer toes as a result of this technique, but I don’t care – it’s enabling me to move, albeit not without pain. Thankfully, Philly is not suffering from the same BandAid shortage as Raleigh-Durham.  I patch up my wounded feet as best I can in a cramped bathroom stall and limp to the baggage claim, where all the signs tell me my bag will be arriving at Carousel F.
• I wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. Finally, there’s an announcement that my bag will be coming out on Carousel E. I head on over and proceed to wait some more. Finally, I spot a sign over Carousel J saying that my flight’s bags were, in fact, delivered there. Somehow, I’m the only one who didn’t notice the change, because there’s my poor little bag, circling all by itself.
• Off to find a taxi, I step outside and realize it’s about 90 degrees here. What’s the point of traveling north if it’s still going to be hotter than hell? My taxi cab has a huge plastic divider between me and the driver, which also means that there’s a huge plastic divider between me and the air conditioning. Fortunately, they’ve provided me with a very lovely little fan that blows hot air directly on my face. It’s the little touches like this that are making me love Philadelphia already.
• I arrive at the hotel where they let me check in early. As I enter my room, I’m hit with a blast of frigid air. Someone has set the thermostat to 57 degrees (seriously). In the course of 5 minutes, I’ve experienced complete weather extremes.
• I attend a couple of sessions, and the conference is great. At the end of the day, I go down to the cocktail hour schmooze-fest that I feel obligated to attend. Because I’m horrible at just going up to random people, I spend the whole time talking to a nice guy from Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. Sustaining a conversation with one person is much easier than trying to initiate conversations with many different people, even though I can’t particularly relate anything he’s saying. He’s nice enough, but he’s an economist, business type – and to be fair, I’m not sure he got where I was coming from either.
•  After an appropriate amount of time, I bail and head up to the room, where the shoes that I’m coming to view as torture devices are the first things to go. Out come the flip flops and jeans, and I head out to walk around Philadelphia.

The Heisman - July 2009

So, according to various web sources, it's the pose that "nobody ever does right." And yet I'm sure we all know it - the football pose made famous by the Heisman Trophy. The trophy itself is apparently modeled on a former New York Jets football player, and depicts him running (almost lunging) forward, right hand out, palm up (as if to block), with the football neatly cradled in the crook of his left arm.

Over the years, many have modeled the pose, from athletes to fans who have had a few too many "adult beverages." But none have re-enacted the moment captured by the trophy quite so elegantly as Lea.

Present day: Dardess Family Room

In the foyer stands a "sock-em bop-em" -  one of those giant inflatable things that you can push down and it pops back up again. This one is bright yellow with Lightning McQueen on it (and, might I add, makes a lovely addition to our family room).

In the corner of the family room stands a little girl, focusing on Lightning McQueen with a particularly intensity. She sizes him up, stares him down, and begins the play. She gives a giant yell and runs toward Lightning McQueen at full speed. Modeling the Heisman pose...right hand out, head down.....she charges toward Lightning McQueen. Slams into him and emerges victorious (of course, so does Lightning since he pops up moments later). Again and again she charges, always with the same teeth-gritting yell at the beginning and a "Look, Mommy, I'm a football player!" at the end. She's the very model of ferocity. Tempered, of course, by the fact that instead of a football, she is holding a naked baby doll tucked neatly into the crook of her arm.

Eat your heart out, John Heisman.

Things I never thought I'd say - July 2009

"Lea, no poking Mommy with the worm while I'm driving."

Yes, I realized exactly how ridiculous that sounded even as I was saying it...and yet I'm sure it's not even close to the most ridiculous thing I've had to say as a parent.  Or will have to say in the future...

Hat day - July 2009

Some more pictures from "spirit week" at Lea's school - this time from "Hat Day," which in Lea's mind got translated to "Silly Hat Day." So, I made her a silly hat out of an old birthday hat and leftover supplies from my big arts and crafts box. (And, of course, my trusty glue gun...seriously, what did people do before glue guns? I think I could make or build anything with it).

She loved it.

Crazy hair day - July 2009

Following are some pictures from "spirit week" in Lea's old classroom. Every day the kids got to dress up differently (crazy hair day, hat day, pajama day, etc.)

This is Lea with her "crazy hair" for school. We did three ponytails - two lop-sided ones on either side of her head, and one on top. We finished the whole thing off with a big flower.




Of course, I was left wondering why I spent so much time working on Lea's crazy hairdo, when all we really had to do was send her to school with her regular "morning hair." Exhibit A:



I rest my case.

4th of July - July 2009

We had an absolutely fabulous 4th of July. Lazy day in the morning, swim with Zach and Wendy at our pool in the afternoon, and fireworks at night. We gathered at the Palladinos before the fireworks, where the grownups enjoyed a beer and some fabulous home-made berry pie. And the kids? Well, they found their own dessert.









Yes, that is indeed Cool Whip straight from the tub.

Fortunately, the ensuing sugar high helped the kids make the 15-minute walk over to Kenan Stadium (the football stadium where the Tar Heels play) where we planned to watch the fireworks. When we got there, people were streaming into the stadium. And, in a bit of luck, one of the staff recognized Dino (Zach's dad, and also the assistant head coach of the UNC women's soccer team) and led us to an elevator, then up to the press observation VIP section. We were told we could sit in the boxes, but Wendy popped her head into one and promptly whispered to me that the chancellor was sitting there - so we high-tailed it out to the outdoor observation decks, where the TV cameras are during football games. And there we watched the fireworks, which were at eye level. It was amazing, just like the time I was in Hawaii with my parents and got to watch fireworks from our high-rise lanai.

Lea loved the fireworks. The first blasts scared her to pieces - actually, they scared me too, because they set off the first fireworks just as the woman singing the National Anthem finished singing "home of the brave." As she hit the word "brave," the stadium lights slammed off and the fireworks shot up. Amazing. Lea was literally shaking from surprise, but soon calmed down, took her hands off of her ears, and enjoyed the show. My favorite part was when they played Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah" in accompaniment to the fireworks - I love that song.

After the show was over, we made the walk back. Wendy and I were walking next to each other, as were Tad and Dino. Zach and Lea were being silly, running back and forth between the "boys" and "girls" and holding our hands. Wendy and I would swing Lea between us while Dino and Tad were swinging Zachy. Then the kids would swap, yelling, "I wanna be on the boys' team!" and "I wanna be on the girls' team!" Before they knew it, we were back at the Palladino house and it was time for us to go.

All in all, it was a wonderful day, mostly because of the wonderful memories that we made. Good friends, good times - can't ask for anything more (even if Lea's 11:40 pm bedtime made the next day, well, challenging).

Compromise - June 2009

Lea, walking outside: "Hey Mom! Mom! Me and that bug there, we just compromised because he was in my way, and I went one way and he went another. So we compromised!!"

Thus, a diplomat is born.

Girls Just Wanna Have... June 2009

Back in the 80s, I was a Madonna-wannabe. My first CD ever was a Madonna CD. I knew all the words to her songs and played them constantly (when "Live to Tell" came out, I think I even filled up an entire side of a cassette tape with the song). I did a dance routine to "Lucky Star" at summer camp, complete with teased hair, rubber bracelets, big earrings and an off-the-shoulder shirt (and might I say, I was looking FINE). Madonna had (and truth be told, still has) a special place in my heart.

But another special place was reserved for Cyndi Lauper. Cyndi was always a bit more out there and less calculating than Madonna. She was crazy, kooky, unabashedly herself, and more importantly, a girls' girl. I mean, what better anthem is there than "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun?" To this day, it remains one of my favorite songs (full disclosure, I did a dance routine to "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" as well - this one was in Girl Scouts, and I really don't remember much about it - probably because my costume wasn't as cool).

At any rate, recently I've begun downloading some "adult" songs that I think Lea will like, and a lot of them are 80s tunes: Safety Dance, 99 Luftballons, Don't Worry-Be Happy, You Spin Me Right Round, 867-5309/Jenny, etc. And, of course, "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun."

So today, we're listening to Lea's playlist in the car on our way to Moe's ("Welcome to Moe's!) and "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" comes on. We're singing along, and we get to Moe's before the song is over. As we exit the car, I'm still singing (no doubt this is the kind of behavior that will cause endless embarrassment to Lea later on). And here's what happens:

Me:  "Hey now, Hey now, What's the matter with ya, girls just wanna have fun now, c'mon."
Me: "Hey Lea, what do girls want to have?"
Lea, without missing a beat: "Popsicles!!!"

Clearly, Cyndi and I haven't gotten through to her yet.

Girls' Night - June 2009

Last night I went out to dinner with two of my best friends in the area. Dinner was at 6:15, and I got home at 10:15...and all we were doing was talking. Every time we have a girls' night dinner, I'm reminded of how much I enjoy just talking and spending time with my friends. We talk about our lives, kids, husbands, current events, whatever. It's just a way to see that other moms struggle with the same things you struggle with (children who like to talk your ear off, the occasional temper tantrum) and sometimes things that are even more challenging (medical problems, speech therapy, developmental delays).

As I was leaving last night, Lea cried that she didn't want me to go. I gave her a hug and a kiss and promised that I would check on her when I got home. Despite the tears, I didn't feel guilty leaving her. First, I knew she was in great hands with Tad. I made them tuna and lettuce sandwiches for dinner (one of Lea's favorites), and they were planning to eat outside and then go to the pool. Second, I knew that time away connecting with my girlfriends would make me a better, happier mom in the end. (And third, I'm pretty sure that me being away for a couple of hours will not permanently scar the child).

Whenever I have girls' night, it reminds me of the book group meetings my mom used to have when we lived in New York. Although I'm sure that she must have gone over to other women's houses sometimes, the meetings I remember most were the ones at our house. I think it was because I was privy to a bit of the mystery - although I didn't participate, it was a glimpse into what went on. My mom would make some sort of hors d'oeuvres (I distinctly remember her making the cheese/rice krispy thingies that I love) and get the house in order. During the actual meeting, I played in my room and then went to bed (I think - my memory on what I actually did isn't so clear). Looking back, I have no idea where my dad was or what he was doing during the time. I do remember listening at my door to hear what my mom and her friends could be talking about. I could never hear anything specific - just the sounds of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. Whenever I heard laughter, I always wondered what they were talking about. To me the whole thing seemed very mysterious, very grown up, very cool.

I'm sure that Lea will understand and appreciate the need for girls' nights when she gets older. Perhaps she'll even look back on the nights when I kept my work clothes on, refreshed my lipstick, and went out to meet the girls. And hopefully she'll understand the importance of having good friends around to keep you grounded and happy.

So pragmatic - June 2009

The scene: All of us are in the car, driving home from soccer practice. As we're about to turn into our neighborhood, Tad notices a turtle in the street. The street is fairly busy, and the turtle is about 1/3 of the way across, with a long expanse of pavement in front of him. We turn into our neighborhood, and drive a short way before I ask Tad if we should go back. We agree that, having noticed the turtle, we have some sort of obligation to rescue him.

The rest of the scene as it plays out:

Pam, to Tad: "I'll stop the car and you can go rescue him."
(I stop the car, Tad leaps out, waits for cars to pass, then runs out into the street to grab the turtle. In the meantime, I pull around to the other side of the street to go pick up Tad.)
Lea: "Is Daddy going to get runned over?"
Me: "No, he'll be careful."
Lea: "What's he doing?"
Me: "Rescuing the turtle who's in the road."
Lea: "Oh. Why?"
Me: "Because the other cars might not see him."
Lea: "And then he'll be runned over?"
Me: "If they don't see him, maybe."
Lea: "Daddy's going to get runned over!"
Me: "No, Daddy is smarter than that."

Tad gets the turtle, and puts him in the landscaping at the edge of our neighborhood. As he's running back toward the car, I realize that this is a great opportunity for Lea to see a turtle up close and personal. So, just when Tad is about to get back in the car, I make him go back, get the turtle, and hold it through the window so that Lea can see it. She touches its shell and looks spectacularly underwhelmed.

Tad gets in the car, but before I can drive away, I start thinking about how close the landscaping at the edge of our neighborhood is to the road. What if we've rescued the turtle but haven't taken him out of harm's way? Oh, the horror.

Back out of the car goes Tad. He picks up the turtle again and brings the turtle over to a pond that's about 20 feet away. My conscience is now clear, confident in the fact that if the turtle bites it, it's Darwinism at work. We've given the turtle every chance - now he just needs to not blow it.

As Tad gets back into the car, I applaud him as a turtle-rescuing hero. I am awash in the warm glow of our altruism. I'm certain Lea must feel the same way - Daddy, the Turtle Rescuer. After all, when I was a child, I would have obsessed over the turtle. Did he make it? Did he have a good life? Was he someone's Daddy? Did his family miss him? Would he ever find his family again? Was he able to fulfill his true turtle potential? Was "he" even a "he"?

And Lea? Well, her reaction was somewhat more pragmatic: "If he gets dead, there will be more baby turtles, you know."

Oh well.

Nicknames - June 2009

My father recently posted a picture of me on Facebook (yes, my dad is on Facebook) that he labeled with a bunch of my nicknames growing up...and I never realized how many of them there were. And then I realized that I do the same thing to Lea.

She began life as P-Nut. Not sure why...she just seemed like a P-Nut. P-Nut eventually morphed into "Nutty," which we still call her. Variations on "Nutty" include "Nutter Butter," "Nutter Boo" or "Butter Boo," and "Butter Booble."

Then I also call her "Baby Bee," "Babe," "Babe-a-licious" or the shorter "Babe-a-lish," "Boo," and "Lea Doodle" or just plain "Doodle."

The thing is, it would be easy to blame all of this on Tad, but he's usually not the one who comes up with the nicknames - and in all fairness, he usually only calls her "Nutty." It's me who keeps generating nicknames. I'm like that weird "Copy Guy" who used to be on Saturday Night Live and who gave everyone ridiculous nicknames. Someone stop me...13 nicknames and the poor child isn't even 4 1/2 yet.

Goal tigers redux - June 2009

The Goal Tigers participate in their final huddle. I believe Coach Tim is imparting some very important words about what they'll be having for snack. Lea was always very interested in the huddles, high fives, and congratulatory handshakes at the end of the game.




The Goal Tigers after the medal ceremony. A few players refused to pose for the final group photo - personally, I'm amazed we got this many of them to stand still. I have to say, the Chapel Hill YMCA provides some nice medals...very official looking, and much better than anything I ever got (not that I'm bitter or anything.)

Note from Lea's teacher - June 2009

This is the last week that Lea will be in Room 9, the 3 and 4 year old room at her school. She'll be moving to Room 11, one of the 4-5 year old rooms. Next summer, she'll be in the school's "summer camp" for the months before she starts...gasp...kindergarten.

I'm so grateful for all the wonderful teachers Lea has had throughout her time in day care. These are the people to whom I entrust my daughter every day, and it's a hard, underpaid job. We've always tried to tell Lea's teachers how much they mean to us, because they are the ones responsible for her well-being when Tad and I can't be there. In my mind, there's no job more important.

One of Lea's teachers from Room 9 wrote us a card last week, and it really meant a lot to me. I'll be keeping it (along with the others we've received over the years) for Lea to read when she gets older.

"Pam, Lea, Tad,
I want to thank you for allowing me to teach Lea. I really enjoyed having her in room 9. I will miss her so much. She is a wonderful sweet girl. Both you and your husband are wonderful people. You all are really an inspiration. Thank you for also taking the time to get books from the library!!
Ms. Alexis"

Contamination - June 2009

Lea has been taking swimming lessons for a few weeks now, and is VERY interested in going to the pool as much as possible. Today I picked her up from school and told her that we could go swimming before dinner.

And so began the preparations: Clothes off, swimsuit and sunscreen on, swimsuit back off to go potty, snack, pack the towels, pack the water, get ready to leave the house, go back in for the water gun, get ready to leave the house again, go back in to look for "Mr. Dinosaur," agree to look for him later after initial search was in vain, actually get out of the house, get kickboard, pool noodle, ponder why it's called a pool "noodle," get in argument about who is going to carry the pool noodle, finally shut the garage door and get moving.

As we're walking up to the pool, Lea says, "It sounds like nobody's there." I listen and agree it sounds quiet. As we get closer, Lea says, "No noises. No kids. I don't hear any fun." Okay, what am I, chopped liver?

We walk up to the gate, and sure enough, there's a sign that says the pool is closed due to "fecal contamination." Um. Ew.

So Lea asks why the pool is closed, and I tell her "it's contaminated." Here's the rest of our conversation:

Lea: "What does contaminated mean?"
Me:  "It means that it got dirty."
Lea: "How?"
Me: "Probably just by accident."
Lea: "Are they going to clean it up?"
Me: "Yes."
Lea: "How? With Clorox?"
Me: "They'll put chemicals, including chlorine, into the pool."
Lea: "What was wrong with it again?"
Me: "It was contaminated."
Lea: "What does contaminated mean?"
Me: "It means dirty."
Lea: "What does it have in it?"
Me: "Yucky stuff."
Lea: "Like what kind of yucky stuff."
Me: "I think it just got dirty by accident."
Lea: "What was that called again? What's wrong with it?"
Me: "CONTAMINATED."
Lea: "With yucky stuff?"
Me: "YES. Let's stop talking about it."
Lea: "Okay."
(pause exactly 3 seconds)
Lea: "What was that word again?"
Me: (aaaaaaahhhhhhh) "Contaminated."
Lea: "Contaminated?"
Me: "YES."
Lea: "With what?"
Me: "Yucky stuff?"
Lea: "But what kind of yucky stuff?"
Me: "Dirty stuff."
Lea: "What was that word again?"
Me: "CON. TAM. I. NATED."
Lea: "With what?"
Me: "POOP. The pool has POOP in it, okay?"

If you thought the conversation ended there, you've obviously never had children. Because that only set off a new conversation about why the poop was in the pool, how I think it got there, whether it was poop from a bird or a person, whether it was a boy or girl or baby who pooped in the pool, how they got it out, etc. Suffice it to say, I've now thought WAY more about this issue than I really want to. Because, after all, I have to get back IN that pool at some point. Ugh.

Ma! Pa! I'm blind! - June 2009

Most of you won't recognize that famous line from one of my all-time favorite TV shows. Those of you who do recognize them know that the immortal words were uttered by Mary Ingalls, upstairs in the bedroom loft she shared with Laura, while she was trying to do her homework. Yes, her parents had been warned by Doc Baker that Mary's eyesight was failing, and that in short time, she would be blind. And in one instant, it happened. And of course, instead of saying something like, "I can't see!" (which is what I would have said), Mary had to say something far more dramatic - hence, "Ma! Pa!! I'm blind!!!"

I remember this because my favorite episodes of Little House on the Prairie fall into one of two categories. The first category is "something very dramatic happens." For example, the episode where Caroline gets an infection in her leg and almost has to amputate it. Or the episode where rats get into the town's cornmeal supply and everyone ends up with the plague (okay, not everyone, but darn close). Or the episode where Mary's eyeglasses start a fire in the field. And, of course, the episode where Mary goes blind.

The second category of favorite shows is "Anything with Almanzo Wilder." Much like Laura, I had the most desperate crush on Manly. In theory, the crush was on Dean Butler, the actor who played Almanzo. But I really had little interest in Dean Butler outside of his Manly character. (Side notes on my crush: I once developed a crush on a member of the Frederick Keys baseball team simply because he looked like Dean Butler playing Almanzo Wilder. I was horribly disappointed when I read a biography of Laura Ingalls Wilder and saw a picture of the real Almanzo - not that cute. And I recently looked up Dean Bulter on IMDB to see what else he's done - not much acting, but some documentaries). At any rate, any of the episodes with Almanzo were a-okay with me.

Fast forward to present day. I'm upstairs on the computer and hear unfamiliar TV sounds from downstairs. Come down to see "Hannah Montana" on the TV, and I don't mind telling you that I freaked out a bit. Tad had heard parents of Lea's friends talking about how their kids love "Hannah Montana," "Zach and Cody," and the other Disney / Nickelodeon shows and decided to let her watch one. Lea was into it, and upset when I said it was for "older girls" and changed the channel. But I'm sorry - she's 4, and I don't care what the other kids are doing (yes, that cliche parenting line DID just come out of my mouth). I don't want her watching stuff about pre-teens that's blatantly commercialistic, banal, and most importantly, irritating as crap. There's plenty of time for that when she's older. In Tad's defense, I don't think he truly understood the full horrible-ness of Hannah Montana.

Of course, Lea was very upset about not being able to watch a big girl show, so I suggested that we try something new - "Little House on the Prairie." I told her I watched it when I was a little girl. So we've DVRed it, and Lea absolutely loves it. She can't get enough, and it's now her new favorite show. We're watching the ones where Laura is little, and Lea is fascinated by the characters. She particulary likes "Nellie Oleson," the bratty girl whose parents own the local mercantile. Nellie is a total snob and likes to make trouble for Laura. Last night, as we were driving home, Lea was reciting one of Nellie's lines from the show where Laura and Mary go to school for the first time and meet all of the kids, "Country girls! Makes me so mad, I want to push them over..." She even said it with a little accent - incredible.

The other episodes we've DVRed are ones where Laura is older - sixteen - and going off to get her first teaching job. It's also when she meets Almanzo and they fall in love. At first I thought Lea would be bored by these episodes, but she was just as fascinated. We just recently watched the episode where Laura and Almanzo get engaged. Lea was rapt, her eyes staring at the TV screen. And when Laura and Almanzo gave each other a congratulatory kiss, Lea sighed the hugest, most satisfied sigh. Hysterical. 

Just goes to show you that sometimes the older, more simple (albeit overly-dramatic) things are the best. I'll take Little House on the Prairie over Hannah Montana any day. 

The zucchini - May 2009

Lea: Sing the song about the zucchini.
Pam: The zucchini?

 

Lea (nodding head "yes"): The zucchini.
Pam: There's a song about a zucchini? Do you sing it at school?
Lea: No, you sing it.
Pam: I sing it??
Lea: Yes. It's about the yellow zucchini.
Pam (realization dawning): Ohhhhhhhh....  "She wore an itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny, yellow polka dot BIKINI, that she wore for the first time today."

God only knows why Lea thinks this woman is wearing a very small zucchini, but hey, whatever works.

Maroon Goal Tigers - May 2009

The Marroon Goal Tigers will be making their final appearance tomorrow at 10 am. We'll all wait anxiously for the outcome of the game...except that nobody keeps score. At any rate, parents have been informed that medals will be distributed to all players at the end of the game, which I'm sure will be a highlight for Lea.

Sort of takes me back to the end of my own soccer season as a member of "The Kickers," where we were awarded the very special honor of "Best Team Name." Oy. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the hidden meaning there. Nice try, Kickers.

I've loved watching Lea "play soccer," which I feel obliged to put in quotes because she's just as likely to be running after the soccer ball as chasing a butterfly (last Saturday, she managed to coerce another player into abandoning the game to chase butterflies with her). Another highlight for me was seeing the entire game stopped when one player found a bug on the sidelines - and in short time, all of the kids from both teams were gathered around the bug, ooohing and aaahing over it. I'm pretty sure that never happened to Mia Hamm, but I could be wrong.

Below is an unofficial team photo of the Goal Tigers - fiercest team in the 3-4 year old division.

So cool - April 2009

Back in the day, your car was a great place from which to "showcase your cool," especially during the spring and summer. Driving around, windows rolled down, sunglasses on, hair blowing back, cool tunes emanating from the stereo. The music was a broadcast - "check me out, cute guy stopped next to me at the light."

Of course, I was always slightly hampered in this endeavor by the fact that I drove a 1978 Toyota Corolla station wagon that only had an AM radio. However, I could blare all the "golden oldies" - thanks, 1600 WINX - that I wanted. I attracted my share of stares, but I'm not sure they were for the reasons I intended.

When I got rid of the Corolla (and then the 1983 Toyota Tercel station wagon, then the 1988 Honda Civic hatchback with no paint on the hood), I was older, but still indulged in the "car cool" game every now and then. I particularly liked driving around in Tad's 1993 Acura Integra hatchback, sun roof open, windows down (actually, the Integra has a "moon roof" according to Tad, but I have no idea how that could possibly be different from a sun roof). I'd hang my arm out the window and play my favorite upbeat, funky music - Missy Elliot, Cake, Mos Def. I was cool, carefree, living my life.

Flash forward, present day.

The car is a goldish-brown Mazda Protege sedan (not my favorite color, but it was $500 cheaper than our preferred color, and frugality trumped style). There's a dent on the back bumper from when I backed into a truck in a junk yard in the Outer Banks (a story for another time), which is now particially covered with a magnetic "Jazzercise" bumper sticker. Sticky finger and palm prints cover the back windows, and the car hasn't been washed in...well...ever.

So there I am, driving around, windows down, sun beating down on my arms, music playing. Pull up to a stoplight. Look over to my right at a cute young guy who has his "car cool" game in full effect. He's got his windows open, arm hanging out, sunglasses on, seat leaned back. He's bobbing his head in time to the hip-hop music that's coming from his car.

And me? I respond to a request from the back seat to turn up the music (so that ours can be as loud as the car next to us). And there I am, car cool game in full effect. Sunglasses on, windows open, arm hanging out. The cute young guy looks over at our car. From the back seat, a request: "Mommy, SING!" And so I look over at cute young guy, match his stare, and start to sing:

"Daddy, daddy, daddy, won't you come-a come-a come-a, put my n-n-n-n-n-n-nightlight on."

Ohhhhh, yeah.....NOW I'm cool.

My alarm clock - Jan 2009

[Setting: Our bedroom. Pan in to show Pam and Tad asleep, buried under the covers. Streetlights shine in through the windows, but the sun is not yet up. Listen in on the sounds of deep breathing. All of a sudden, the double doors to the bedroom fly open with a bang. Used to this type of entry, Pam and Tad stir but do not react.]

[Pan in on small person, struggling in the shadows with a large object as she approaches the bed.]

Small person: Ooof.

[Tad tosses and turns.]

Small person: Ughf. Ooof.

[Pam turns over.]

Small person, approaching Tad's side of the bed: Daddy?

[Silence]

Small person: Daddy? Daddy? Hey! Look at how much laundry is in my laundry basket!! We need to do laundry!!
So now I'm apparently living with Martha Stewart. Fabulous.

A new approach to photography - Nov 2008

Lea and I made pumpkin bread this weekend, which was a ton of fun. It wasn't as good as my mom's pumpkin bread, but we put chocolate chips in it, so that made up for the deficiency. Tad had the camera out to take a few pictures us mixing, measuring, and stirring. Lea was wearing one of my old aprons, standing on one of our kitchen chairs that we had pulled up to the counter. She had a big wooden spoon and a large double-batch of pumpkin bread mix in front of her. I picked up the camera and took a picture of Lea stirring the chocolate chips in. After this, she wanted to take a picture of me. I handed over the camera and prepared to pose.

Then I heard a little, "Oh no!" and a "sploonch" kind of sound (it may have been in the opposite order, but order really isn't important here). What IS important is the fact that our camera landed smack dab in the middle of a gloopy mess of pumpkin bread batter and started sinking like it was in quick sand.

I snatched it out, and Tad and I then proceeded to juggle the tasks of calming Lea ("no biggie, accidents happen") and extracting pumpkin goo from the camera with q-tips.

I think we got it all, since we've used the camera since then and it seems to be fine....perhaps exuding a slight aroma of pumpkin, but otherwise a-ok. ;-)

Jokes - Nov 2008

My dad can tell jokes. By this I mean that he has the necessary skills to tell a good joke. Namely: (1) an appropriate sense of the dramatic / comedic and (2) enough of a memory to actually remember both the joke and punch line.

Personally, I have an excellent sense of the dramatic / comedic (with heavy emphasis on the "excellent sense of the dramatic"). However, for the life of me, I can't actually remember all the pieces to a joke. Most often, I remember the punch line and have no idea how to get there (my dad may be the only one who will understand what I'm about to say, but I remember the punch line to the "Foo Bird" joke - which I'll refrain from posting here - but I have no idea how to get there).

At any rate, I think Lea has inherited my ability to tell a joke. I call this story "Lea tells a knock-knock joke"
(First, I should ensure that we're all familiar with the famous "orange - banana" knock-knock joke, which goes as follows:)
"Knock knock"
"Who's there"
"Banana"
"Banana who?"
"Knock knock"
"Who's there?"
"Banana"
"Banana who?"
[Repeat until person you're telling the knock-knock joke to is just about to walk away from you, then end with:]
"Knock knock"
"Who's there?"
"Orange."
"Orange who?"
"Orange you glad I didn't say 'banana'?"
[Wait for uproarious laughter to ensue. You may be waiting a while.]

Lea's version of the joke:
"Knock knock."
"Who's there?"
"Banana."
"Banana who?"
"BANANA MOMMY!!!!!"
[No need to wait for uproarious laughter to ensue, because the 3 1/2 year old joke teller will provide her own.]

Grandie would be proud - Nov 2008

First of all, let me just say that I won't be able to do this vignette justice because I'm forced to record it in the written medium. But, I'll do my best.

Lea has lately been infatuated with a program called "Fireman Sam" that features a cartoon fireman named, well, Sam, and his friends. They all have British/Australianish accents (Tad did some research and I believe that the program takes place in Wales, but that they've added a few Australian characters). Anyway, today Fireman Sam was talking about needing water to put out a fire.

Several minutes later, Lea looks around for her water, spots it on the table, reaches her arm out toward it, and looks to me for help reaching it while saying, "Woohtah." I look at her strangely, and she repeats, "Woohtah! Woohtah! Woohtah!"

Finally realize that she's saying "water" with her version of a British accent.

My British Nana (Grandie to Lea) would be so proud. (And also would probably be the only one to understand Lea right away.)

From the very beginning - Nov 2008

Wendy (Zachy's mom) and I have a plan to make a scrapbook for the kids. We've started collecting pictures of the two of them together, and also are going to include any Zach and Lea stories we can remember. Both Wendy and I also have saved the "My Day" sheets that the teachers used to write when the  kids were babies at KinderCare. the sheets were a way for teachers to write down when they changed a dirty diaper, when the kids ate, etc. As the kids got older, it was a way for the teachers to tell us stories about what had happened during the kids' days. Wendy remembered that she often had "Zachy and Lea" stories written on Zach's "My Day" sheets. So I went back to look through Lea's. And sure enough, so many of them are filled with little anecdotes about the two kids. Like the time that Zachy let Lea wear his most prized possession - his Tar Heel baseball hat. And, in return, Lea let Zachy wear her sunglasses (which were a mandatory accessory at the time). There are even stories going back to the time that the two of them were babies in Ms. Jean's room. Nothing big, but just notes that Zach and Lea really seemed to like playing with each other.

Who knows what will happen in the future? I still have a friend I talk to from when I was very little - but chances are, that as Lea and Zach get older and head off to school, their relationship will change and perhaps fade. However, I always want her to remember Zachy, because he's been such an important and special part of her life (and ours, too).

Election night - Nov 2008

Tad and I had our own little election night party, and documented the entire thing for posterity.

Wine and Pooh Bears were mandatory for the celebration.



Since we lacked the appropriate party attire, I was forced to create my own with a Sharpie.


Pink fuzzy crowns were optional. At this point, many states had been called. NC still not in.


Talking to dad on the phone...results from NC still not in.


Getting later....polls closing across the country. Oh, yeah...NC results still not in.


V for Victory....and still NC wasn't in (we had to wait several days to go blue...)


We also took several videos, but I'm not smart enough to upload those...and also, don't want to subject people to them. Particularly the video that Tad so thoughtfully documented of me crying after McCain's concession speech. Not because I was sad...but because it was very classy. Wish we could have seen more of that kind of speech all along.

Halloween - Nov 2008

Pictures of the cutest tiger around and her best friend are finally here!
I'm proud to say that I "made" Lea's costume (if cutting out felt shapes and hot-glueing them onto a t-shirt counts) and did her make-up. The ears and tail were a purchase...all in all, she was happy with her costume and had a super time, which is really what counts.




Tad, Lea, and the bumpy pumpkin



Lea and Zacharoo (who was dressed as Lighting McQueen from the movie "Cars")




Zachy giving Lea a big smackeroo "from Ms. Monica" (Lea's teacher at her old school)



It's a well-known fact that tigers love Cheetos

My ring - Nov 2008

I'm really not the type of person who would normally write about a piece of jewelry, but I was thinking this morning about my engagement and wedding rings and what they mean to me. When I first got my engagement ring, I can remember nearly getting into several car accidents because my eyes were focused on my sparkly ring rather than on the road. And even now, there are times when I catch myself staring at it (not while driving, though...I've grown out of that). 

I can remember going shopping with Tad to look at engagement rings. I first thought that I wanted a ring that looked exactly like my mom's (small, single round solitaire), because that's what I'd grown up seeing and admiring. I loved her ring when I was a kid. It was sparkly and shiny, simple and beautiful. And it was special. My mom doesn't take off her engagement and wedding band - in fact, I'm not sure whether she ever has. As a young girl, that made it even more fascinating to me - not just as piece of jewelry, but because of what it symbolized.

And now I have my own symbol. My ring looks different than my mom's, but it means something to me nonetheless. I can still remember standing with Tad, looking at different rings, trying them on, and holding up my left hand and saying to him, "How will this look when I'm 75 and my hands are all wrinkled?"

I ended up with an engagement ring that has a flaw. If you look closely at it, you can see a dark spot in it.  At first, I worried about this flaw - not because of the way it looked (really, who's going to stare that closely at my finger), but because of the fact that we had spent so much money on something that wasn't 100% perfect. But, as I've gotten older, I've come to realize that my ring is a better symbol because it has a flaw. Nobody's relationship is 100% perfect - we all have flaws, both individually and together. The important part is being able to put away the magnifying glass, to look past those flaws and see the beauty of the thing as a whole. 

When I look at my ring, I think of Tad and the family we've created together. I feel really lucky to have him in my life (and I'm not just saying that because he kept me supplied with coffee all day yesterday while I studied). I'm proud of our relationship and what the two of us have been able to accomplish together. So, I'll take my flawed ring as a symbol of that over a big, honkin' flawless diamond anyday.

Out of the mouths of babes - Pt 2 - Oct 2008

Bradley (Tommie and Margaret's cat) died last week. He had a fairly rapid decline, and in the end, it looked like he was in the final stages of cancer when Tommie and Margaret decided to have him put to sleep.

I may have mentioned before that Lea has always loved cats, and when she goes to Tommie and Margaret's house, she loves to pet Bradley (which Bradley nicely tolerated, although that was about as far as he would go). So, we had to tell her that Bradley wasn't going to be around any more.

Fortunately, Tad had taken a book out of the library called "Desser: The Best Ever Cat," not realizing that it was a story about a little girl whose cat died (the first time he read it, he apparently had to improvise an alternate ending, which just goes to show that you should always read the synopsis of what the book is actually about). So, Saturday morning, I told Lea that Grandma had called on Friday night, and that Bradley had died (she knew he was sick). It took her a while to process all of this, and it was fascinating to watch her thought process. She had to ask, "He died?" several times, then wanted to know when he was "going to be alive again." When I explained that he wasn't going to be alive, she wanted to know why. Finally, I think the permanence set in, and she was a little sad. So I told her that we would always remember Bradley and that he would live on inside us, in our minds (placed a hand on my head) and our hearts (hand on my torso). This seemed to satisfy her, and I was congratulating myself on navigating this tricky developmental issue with aplomb and grace.

Until Lea said: "Now I have Bradley living in my tummy!!!" (Places hand on torso.)
And I realized that "living on inside us" had very different meanings for the two of us.

Lea also colored a big picture of Diego and Baby Jaguar (she said it was Tommie and Bradley), and wrote a note on it for Margaret and Tommie. The note says: Dear Grandma and Tommie- I miss Bradley. Grandma and Tommie miss Bradley. Mommy and Daddy miss Bradley. Lea misses Bradley. [She wanted this reiterated again, because she wanted to see the word "Lea" written instead of just "I."] I like to dance in the room with Bradley. I used to give him his food, but he died and we're sad. I love you. Lea.

And life goes on...

Out of the mouths of babes - Pt 1 - Oct 2008

Conversation recap:

"Mommy, how did you get rid of your hair balls?"
"Huh?"
"How did you get rid of your hair balls?"
"Hair balls?"
"Yeah, hair balls."
"HAIR balls?"
"Yeah."
"When did I have hair balls?"
"I don't know."
"Was I talking about having hair balls?"
"Yeah."
"When?"
"When we were on Zachy's boat and you and Zachy's mommy were talking."
[Pause]
"Ohhhhh!!!!"

I'm happy to inform you that I've never had hair balls. However, I did have a conversation with Wendy (Zachy's mom) about our hair falling out after we had Zach and Lea. During this conversation, both of us mentioned that we got "bald spots" and patches of thinning hair (mine were placed right along my hairline like devil's horns). Somehow, Lea had overheard and remembered this conversation, but apparently didn't really understand what bald spots were. So, she thinks that Wendy and I had hair balls after we were pregnant. Brings to mind a lovely image, doesn't it?

27 minutes and counting - Sep 2008

....is how long Lea has been singing/talking to herself in her room. I shall now type verbatim what's going on:

(maybe that was the magic decree...it's now all quiet...could it really be that easy????)

Anyway, to recap the past 27 minutes, we began with several rousing choruses of "John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt" (his name is my name too, you know). We then moved on to some sort of school song where she names all of her friends and sings to them to "jump up and down, jump up and down and turn all around." Then we moved on to several choruses of "10 little monkeys jumping on the bed."

Oh, wait...spoke too soon....as heard:

Five little ducks went out one day...5 little ducks went out to play...over the hills and far away....mother duck said, "quack, quack, quack..." but only 4 little ducks came back [Repeat, proceeding down to one.] One little duck went out to play, over the hills and far away, mother duck said, "quack, quack, quack," but only 6 little ducks came waddling...but only. [pause]...but only....no little ducks came waddling back. [repeat from beginning, except substitute "daddy duck" for "mother duck".

Hah, hah, hah, doo, doo, doo, doo...
This is what I say, now we're going to play. Hello, Lea, Lea is our friend. Hello, Lea and here we go again. Hello, Alex...Alex is our friend. Hello, Alex, and here we go again. [Repeat with Mira, Mikey, Carter, Everybody, Stickers.] {Pam's note: Must be another school song, though doubt they actually say "hello" to stickers at school.}

The wiggle trees outside...and the grass and the mulch. Come in, gusty gump. Shhhhh...shhhhh. {Pam's note: Clearly made up.}

I feel crazy so I jump in the soup, I feel crazy so I jump in the soup. I jump, jump, jump, in the soup. I feel crazy so I gallop in my soup, I feel crazy so I gallop in my soup, I gallop around in my soup. I feel crazy so I splash in my soup (etc.). I feel crazy so I jump in my soup. I jump. Jump. {Pam's note: Sounds made up, but actually is from a CD we have.}

La, la, LAAAA!
Where is Thumpkin, where is Thumpkin? Here I am! Here I am! How are you today, sir? Very fine, I thank you. Run away, run away. [Repeat with Pinky, Ring Man.]
A pumpkin came with some shampoo, and he said this is what I do....[gibberish]
Dubble wubble bubble bubble bubble bubble bubble bubble
Here in the bubble went on and ouch.
Ouch on the belly and the cow will say...
{Pam's note...songs are clearly disintegrating. Can only assume this means sleep is on the way. Except that she's now been at it for 42 straight minutes.}

Hooray for Target! - Sept 2008

No, not just because we spend nearly all of our time there (although we do...seriously, you can buy ANYTHING at Target).
But, in the interest of public health, I'd like to offer some praise to Target.
Last night, we received a phone call around 8:00, and it was from the Target pharmacy. They wanted to make sure that Lea was doing okay with the antibiotics, and then also offered a reminder about the importance of finishing the whole course of antibiotics, regardless of how Lea is feeling. Which, of course, having a mother who's a nurse and being a public health student, I already knew. However, I think it's great that they took the time to call and I also think it's a potentially very useful intervention to make sure that people are taking their medications as prescribed. So, Target gets my kudos for the day.

Target: Where you can buy bananas, laundry detergent, yard furniture, party decorations, sheets, shoes, jewelry, and potting soil. Oh yeah, and get your public health messages too.

I'm turning into my mother - Sep 2008

So we've been bombarded with news stories about the approach of Hurricane Hanna, which range from "batten down the hatches, or you're going to get blown away" to "just a little rain."

I talked to Tad last night about our "emergency preparedness" plan. We looked, and discovered we have plenty of batteries, some flashlights, and a generally well-stocked pantry. But the water...what if we lose our water?

Tad mentioned filling up bathtubs.
I believe I said something about how I wasn't going to drink dirty bath water.
I know the thought about how we could just drink beer crossed Tad's mind, but to his credit, he didn't say it.
In the end, he convinced me that we'll end up with heavy rain, but it's not a real hurricane, so we don't need to go stock up on water.

So, I went on my merry way and headed to the gym, knowing that we'd be fine without getting water.
And, on the way home from the gym, I stopped at the 24-hour supermarket and picked up a case of bottled water. And 6 bottles of seltzer. I just couldn't help myself, and I blame my mother. But really, isn't it better to be safe than sorry? And so what if we now have enough bottled water to fill a small pool....

One tough little lady - Aug 2008

...which is how Lea's doctor characterized her today after she's been walking around, going full force, with double ear infections. He kept asking me throughout the examination, "And she hasn't been complaining that anything hurts? She hasn't complained about her ears? Or her head? Or anything?"

We only took her in because she was awake coughing last night, and the cough has been going on for a while. So now I get to feel like the guilty parent for not knowing that my child was sick while she has been valiantly suffering. (Hello, mom and dad...shades of Mount Washington? Except at least Lea didn't have PNEUMONIA.) [Hey, it's so rare that you get to call your parents on something...I will continue to milk the "we made Pam climb Mount Washington with pneumonia" for as long as I possibly can. Because I have a feeling that someday Lea will be doing the same thing...]

Best friends - Aug 2008

I defy you to find anything cuter...than a girl and her best friend.
 



And the grand finale....a big smackaroo.

Hoodie princess - Sep 2008

Attached is Lea, showing off the finest in preschool dress-up wear. You'll note that she accessorizes the Snow White outfit with a yellow hoodie. The hoodie picks up the yellow in the skirt, and simultaneously draws the eye upward, creating the illusion of height. The colors are classic, while the hoodie adds an urban vibe to the ensemble.

Green stick, black marks - Aug 2008

At Lea's school they use large, colored popsicle sticks to indicate behavior for the day. A green stick = no problems. Yellow indicates you got some sort of warning, orange means you were talked to again, and red means you did something really wrong (and also involves having to sit down with the teacher and write a letter to your parents about what you did).

Lea has had a green stick for all but 2 days of her time at her "new school." One of the yellow sticks was for disturbing her other friends during naptime, after which Ms. Lori suggested that Lea might like to have something to play with during naptime while she sat quietly on her cot. So, we brought in a little white board and dry erase marker so that Lea could draw and practice her letters. It seemed to be working great.

However, yesterday, after Lea proudly showed me that her stick was green, Ms. Alexis said, "Lea, did you tell your Mommy what you did during naptime?" Lea gets this angelic beam on her face and just stands there, smiling at me. I asked her what she did, only to get another angelic smile in return. Finally, Alexis tells me that Lea apparently grew bored with coloring the white board yesterday, and moved on to coloring her cot and the sheets on her cot. All covered with black dry erase marker.

I'm guessing this fell into the category of, "Okay, technically we didn't tell you not to do that," which is why she still had a green stick. And for the record, she has now been told NOT to do that. I added several other presumptive "do nots" in there as well (e.g., do not draw on yourself, on your friends, or on anything other than the white board). Always good to cover your bases...

Crickets - Aug 2008

I feel compelled to post about crickets. I recognize that this may not seem to be a pressing topic...but for me it is.

I have a long history with crickets. When I was living in MD with my parents, we went through several summers where the house was attacked (yes, attacked) by huge, black field crickets. They would jump throughout the house, chirping incessantly, and emerging in the most horrible places. Two stories will illustrate the trauma I experienced at the hands of crickets.

Story #1
I arrive home after working a late shift at Phineas. As per my usual routine, I watch some TV, then head off to bed. As I step into my room, I hear the tell-tale sound of a cricket. "Chirp, chirp, chirp." He's in the room. I look around on the carpet and check the walls. No cricket. Look under the bed. In the closet. Move the dresser. Check behind the nightstand...all the while being tormented by the cricket's happy chirping. I should also note that it's about 2:00 in the morning at this point. In short, I look everywhere. But no cricket. I finally convince myself that the cricket MUST be in the wall, because I've looked everywhere. I climb into bed, turn out the light, and get settled. All is quiet for a moment, and then I hear a very LOUD chirping. I switch on the light, look down, and find the cricket sitting on my bedspread, inches away from my chest. I throw off the bedcovers, and, finding myself completely unarmed, grab the nearest potential weapon. Armed with a drinking glass, I find the cricket and up-end the glass over him. Too tired to do anything else, I leave him there in his glass cage until morning. Actually, this was a fairly common behavior on my part. Because I was too freaked out to smoosh these huge crickets, and too grossed out by touching them, I would leave them to slowly suffocate and/or starve in upside-down drinking glasses....sometimes keeping as many as 2-3 at a time trapped in a horrible display of cricket demise. At any rate, that was trauma #1.

Story #2
It's again the height of cricket season, and they're everwhere. Cheeping, chirping....happily invading my living space. I wake up, and still groggy from sleep, head to take a shower. My habit at the time was to shower, then put in my contacts. The water heats up, I take off my glasses, climb into the shower, pull the shower curtain closed, and see a huge black thing flying toward me, landing on my chest. I scream and jump out of the shower, slipping on to the floor. Cricket. Fortunately, he was as stunned as I was...and so it was fairly easy to flush him down the drain (although I was half-expecting him to make a re-appearance after I flushed him, ala every horror movie you've ever seen).

So, my hate-hate relationship with crickets goes back a long way. Fast-forward to present day.
I was sitting in our family room last week thinking, "What IS that noise?" Tried to ignore it. Turned up the TV. Finally decided it would go away eventually. Several days later, I can still hear it, and now it's officially driving me nuts. High-pitched, kind of a squeaky noise. I think it might be the refrigerator, but when I walk over there, the noise grows fainter. I climb behind the TV to listen to the electronic equipment. Put my ear next to the carbon monoxide detector. Climb on top of the sofa to listen to the ceiling. Crawl around on the floor with my ear to the rug. The noise is everywhere, and yet nowhere. Finally, after about 10 minutes of this (and of answering Lea's questions about what I'm doing), I walk outside. Listen. I can hear it. I walk closer to the window in the family room. Sound grows louder. Closer. Louder still. I stop right below the window, and can hear it loud and clear. It still sounds like squeaking, so I'm pressing on the side of the house, trying to figure out what could be rattling. Then I realize. It's a cricket. I poke around in the hosta, and the squeaking stops. I poke around some more (not getting too close, mind you, after all, this is a ferocious cricket I'm dealing with), and I think I've chased the cricket away. Go back inside. Sit down to enjoy the quiet.

And the squeaking starts again.

We're now on over a week and a half of cricket chirping. The little bugger never moves from his spot underneath the window. He chirps in the morning, he chirps at night (I have no idea what he does during the day...perhaps he takes a break then). And I have no idea what the life span of a cricket is, but the chirping better stop soon. Or else I'm going to have to break out the drinking glass.

15 and 19 - Aug 2008

I'm happy to report that 15 and 19 are now featured prominently in Lea's counting. For the longest time, counting to 20 meant the following:
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 16, 17, 18, 20.

And if you reminded Lea about 15 and 19, she would say, "10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 16, 17, 18, 20, 15, 19."

But now 15 and 19 have been added to the line-up, in their proper places. And all is right in the world.